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MOD EVENT #001

A CHAOTIC RESPITE

It isn't rare for the seasons in the Netherworld to be a little erratic, though many days have passed now without much of a hint of its typical mercuriality, a good and a bad omen all at once. This respite is commonly referred to as the proverbial "calm before the storm", but it also marks the beginning of merrier celebrations. The Moons above are gilded silver, the twilight sky edged with faint pink and orange -- a sunrise phantasm, spilling over the horizon. It's an infrequent spectacle, accompanied by a dulcet breeze and light drizzles that seem to encourage growth nearly everywhere. Unfortunately, under its influence, people seem a little on edge, quick to anger, but no matter; around Stygia, Restless have begun hanging decorations and ornaments on trees and windowsills, left to catch the moonlight and give off marigold and ginger glows, warmly lighting up the city. Rather than fish, the smell of freshly ground spices permeates the air in the Harbors, Mirth keeps its doors opened to all, but just before the festivities officially begin, a cacophony of chimes resounds all over, a transmission difficult to ignore.

On the screen of your cellphone, nothing; only a voice, ragged, out of breath...

“The woods... Oakwoods! They've come alive! O-One minute he was complaining about the water seeping into his boots, and the next he was... he was being yanked up into the trees! We didn’t see what happened to him, but we heard... the screams, ohh, the screams. Please! Come to Serene, I beg you. This is our safest sanctuary, and the lan... oh, no... wait, no, please... please... NOOO--”

...and the feed abruptly ends, a dull chirr of static. Will you ignore the stranger's call for help and feast, or venture into the woods?

► I. KNOCK ON WOOD (OH PUCK, HE'S HOT!)

When you cross the gates of Serene, an old woman welcomes you, palm flat against her chest and disquiet in her eyes. Myrtille, her name. Oakwoods loom dense and dark in the distance behind her, groaning low as leaves rustle without wind. The Mourning Lantern was stolen, and malevolence rose in turn, dooming them all.

“It was once kept here, a sacred Artifact crafted from the bones of Serene's first founder, who gave her heart’s blood willingly to the woods in an act of contrition. It's the absence of the lantern that is contributing to the wood’s unusually active malice, and if you lot cannot retrieve it, then we must sacrifice another. Go! Take these torches and go, before Oakwoods swallow us whole.”

So you've decided to be brave. Commendable, or foolish? The wood is dark and shrouded in mist, and the trees crowd around you, an absent wind somehow whispering foul nothings in your ear as dead leaves rustle around your feet. Your Shadow basks in the murmurs, sensing the malign presence in Oakwoods as a faint, garbled scream echoes in the distance. You wander deeper and the canopy thickens, thin streaks of moonlight peppering the woods in deep patches of darkness. Behind you, a creature you can't see hisses, and a fluttering of wings nearby alerts you to the arrival of snickering harpies lurking on branches. “Dead,” they croak, in a sing-song chorus. “Dead as daylight.” Oddly enough, they seem content to just watch and stalk you, perhaps expecting you to die quickly, an easy and effortless meal.

It's a frustrating errand if you've ever known one. You barely know what you're looking for, and your Shadow thrives in the dark, taunting, coaxing. You hear it then; a haunting melody, the silhouette of a boy on a fallen tree trunk, strumming. “Come,” he says, with a voice that shimmers like the sun on moving water. If you remember what that's like. “Rest a while. Forget your troubles.” For anyone familiar, you'll recognize him as a Puck, famous prankster, and from his hand dangles a lantern.

► If you attempt to take the lantern from him, he'll immediately drop it to the ground, causing it to break. You may choose to kill him and offer his blood to the woods, or let him go and bleed in his stead. Myrtille should be able to repair what's left of the lantern once the offering's been made.
► If you politely ask to return it, he promises that he will... if you indulge him for the night.

No matter what you choose, you will come across camps, either on your way in or on your way back: pitched tents, most moth-eaten, and some containing vestiges of prior expeditions such as putrid corpses or rotten food. You've been wandering for a while, and sleep sounds terribly inviting. Unfortunately, a wind finally picks up, and leaves begin to blow around you. A nick, then a cut, then a slash reveal the leaves to have razor sharp edges. Sleep well yet? If you've spared the Puck, he'll encourage you to sit with him around a campfire, where he'll sing and tell stories. Or are they. Perhaps you've heard of Bloody Mary before. Slenderman? The Devil that'll make you dance until you die? While the lantern remains in stranger hands, the thread between reality and fiction narrows; protagonists from the Puck's legends come to life, and the only way to rid of them is by quenching the flames of the fire.

Your journey unfortunately doesn't end there. The Puck has a riddle for you: I am a word that is hardly there. Remove my start, and I'm an herbal flair. What am I?

If you fail to answer correctly, he'll vanish before you, and you can bid the lantern goodbye. You'll be forced to gather the bones from the corpses scattered across the woods, and feed it your blood -- or a friend's -- before you escape and return to the woman. The offering will leave you drained and exhausted, weak on your legs. If, on the other hand, you do answer correctly, the lantern is yours, and you'll be teleported out of the woods with a boon in your pocket: a piece of parchment invites you to visit your home in the Shadowlands. There, you'll find an object (or a pet) that belonged to you in your world.

the answer to the riddle is sparsely! it's up to you whether you'd like your character to fail.
legends told around the campfire can be any of the ones mentioned above or any other that might strike your fancy! go wild, have fun!
remember that if you pick an item from your character's world as their boon, it'll eventually disintegrate unless reforged with a soul.

► II. GO BIG OR GOURD HOME

Welcome to the Frightful Harvest, a festival that marks the beginning of the Respite, a temporary period of tranquility between seasons. It acknowledges the blessings offered and the role that both good and evil play in the Netherworld. It is a time to give thanks, but more importantly, it is a time of reflection and warding. Warding against not only the darkness of the next seasons to come, but of the nefarious creatures and struggles that will undoubtedly follow.

Carved pumpkins and straw bales are placed everywhere around the city, and streamers and banners are hung from every home and storefront. Decadent cakes, candies, and pastries are made in over-abundance in order to accommodate everyone, and from the lush gardens of Radiance, an elderly, dark-robed man addresses the Netherwork. You'll learn by eavesdropping on nearby Restless that his name is Doran, the oldest among you and loved by all. His smile stretches kind, and while not an official member of the Hierarchy, it's clear he has certain privileges -- well-deserved, or so you hear.

“Let us gather, feast, dance and celebrate. Let us hold our glasses high for those who heroically perished, for goodness, and for the Ascended. May their journey inspire us to change our lives and the lives of others, to resist evil, and to triumph. To you, dear friends!”

And without further ado, let the festivities begin!

► BARDIC BLITZ
The bardic blitz is a friendly competition that pits talented musicians against one another in an attempt to win over the affection of the crowd through festive melodies or personal compositions. Although it can be hosted just about anywhere, the bardic blitz is normally held in a large canvas tent directly in the heart of Mirth, though smaller crowds also gather in Serene and the Harbors around bonfires.

► FEAST
Although all cultures around Stygia bring their own tastes and specific flair to the celebrations, there are a few staple trade goods that you can find at nearly any celebration of the holiday throughout the city. Many producing the various cakes, beverages, and cookies also use the time to test and perfect their recipes, teaching others or using them as guinea pigs.

► Firstdawn Tea: This revitalizing crimson tea soothes the mind and body and is brewed from the roots of the dawn flower, which only sprouts during the Respite.
► Grablenuts: These fist-sized brown nuts have a hard, stippled outer shell and soft, delicious spicy centers. A single bite will slightly lower your inhibitions, and you may find yourself seeking proximity and warmth.
► Elysium: A nonalcoholic beverage that smells and looks as bad as it tastes. Only those with the strongest will manage to gulp it down. Once drunk, the person experiences true bliss, which seems to last for hours; in reality, it's only a few minutes.
► Will-o-the-Whiskey: Whisky with minor hallucinatory effects, visual and auditory.
► Sundrop: A pound cake coated in a sugary lemon drizzle. No side-effects, just delicious!
► Shadowfell Candy: Chewing on this candy will grant the character a deep and rejuvenating sleep, during which they will appear dead to anyone.

. ► HARVEST HUNT
The harvest hunt happens in a corn maze located in Mirth's amusement park, specifically created for the occasion. Because of the labyrinthian horrors dwelling in the Tempest, some find the terror-free replica a little inappropriate, yet participants still abound every time. A favorite seasonal game of the exuberant and athletic, characters take on the role of either hunter or prey, racing through the maze to either corner their quarry or escape the hands of their pursuer. As long as Shadows behave, it's a relatively safe activity. Friendly spars sometimes occur, picnics, and star-gazing.

► THE PARADE
The parade is the activity most looked forward to by younger Restless. Citizens clad in colorful costumes walk the streets to the rhythm of festive music, and according to tradition, it helps ward away any lingering evil that might try to hide in the community. For reasons unknown, incidents where Restless unwillingly swap bodies sometimes occur.

► III. WAYWARD SUN

The Warding Ritual is a private affair, a behind-the-scene execution on the last day of the festival as you dance and feast and frolic, blissfully unaware. Something goes awry. First, a shriek in the distance, and soon, birds flying away in apparent surprise as the landscape rustles with the sounds of creatures and Restless alike fleeing. A vague sense of dread knocks the air out of your lungs, an iron grip around your throat. And you see it then, a headless figure shrouded in a black veil of cloth, sword in one hand and a bright flaming pumpkin in the other. Its head. It thunders through the night on its skeletal horse, its blade flashing in the moonlight in search of prey. Heads fall. You might get injured during the chase -- collateral damage. 10 members of the Hierarchy won't ever rise again, and the rider eventually charges into the Tempest, leaving behind bloody puddles and a slather of confusion. If you opt to help clean up the mess, you might come across stained sheets of paper on the ground, a painting of a white scorpion in the middle. Otherwise, it's time for you to go home.

ooc note

► Welcome to Nightfell's first event! If you'd like additional, more casual prompts, the Notice Board is right here! New prompts will be added next month, if you've already had your fun with them!
► You'll find some answered questions here, but if you'd like to ask something else, please comment below!
► For a little spooky ambience in the woods.

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[ Suddenly, and without warning, the soul that is haranguing Shalem is seized around the scruff of the neck AND the waistband of their pants and summarily flings them aside. Like an errant child in need of a good yeeting, they're tossed and replaced with a lean redhead in next to nothing by means of clothing.

Sorry Shalem. ]

He said he's not a singer.

[ The redhead barks it at the disoriented Restless, placing his fists upon his hips as he stances up in defense of the other. When eventually the heckler rises, in order to beat a retreat in search of less-guarded individuals, Set's eyes follow them into the crowd -- and then he rounds on Shalem. ]

Next time, just punch them out!

[his saviour. perhaps in sour armour rather than a shining one, but really now, better than leaving shalem alone to deal using failing politeness.

though he does raise his hands as if to ward off this man too.]

I would rather not resort to that sort of thing, especially at a time like this. But... thank you.

[really, he's grateful.]

[ NO MERCY FOR SNEKS ]

Sometimes the only way people will understand is if you put your back into it.

[ Says the scarlet-haired god of mcfreakin' war, who's first response tends to be to punch the hell out of something. He doesn't leave Shalem's orbit, gravitating closer - in fact! - with his own hands elevated as though prepared to swat aside another persistant individual. Anything to ensure another soul isn't heckled verbally ( or worse, physically ) into doing something they truly don't want.

Something something, self-determination and consent are oddly important to this guy, without him even being aware of it. ]

Why would they even think you were a performer in the first place? You have a pretty face, but that doesn't mean you have talent!

[ SET ]

I'm flattered you think me pretty. [deftly side-stepping the insult... and the question. the question is more important here, because shalem doesn't want to admit that he is a performer and was caught in a moment of weakness.

so he's going to latch onto this one particular topic in order to divert attention to what truly matters.]

I don't believe I am... But if you insist.

[then he lowers his hands to avoid the man's grasping ones.]

What is it with mortals? Though none of you compare to the gods, there are some of you who have been graced with beauty - and you deny it! For what reason?

[ He's really scoffing at Shalem right now, as though the humility that the fellow is showing isn't because of self-esteem, but genuine stupidity. A 10 is calling you at least a seven, buddy! There's no anger in Set's voice, only an earnest sort of bullishness - the quality of a man who's seized upon something and won't let go until he has a satisfying answer. ]

Are you denying your talent, as well? Scoundrel!

[how does he find himself in these situations? how did the conversation turn out like this?

shalem has to wonder how he can diffuse this situation, because he really does not want to go down that road.]

I have no talents either, no. I wonder... if I've offended you by not accepting your compliment.

What compliment?

[ He's not playing coy. Or trying to gaslight Shalem; it's just that referring to someone as a pretty face tends to be factual, not complimentary. For a god to take note of the beauty of a mortal is like someone staring at a piece of art, not fully understanding it, but still agreeing it's art! ]

So dour. Come, at the least you can escape other prying hands by attending the performances at my side.

[dour?!

shalem has to wonder if there's some miscommunication going on, because he feels like there are two separate conversations happening right now, leaving him winded and confused, as if he'd just been through a rehearsal with barely a first reading of the script.

what's a modest and gentle pythia to do but allow to be swept away?]

Ah... You are offering me your companionship, then? How... kind.

I accept.

[ modest, gentle and kind freaking gloomy -- !! ]

Did you want me to leave you to be preyed upon again?

[ As Set moves through the crowd, they yield to him; whether they know what they do or not, the people move aside and out of his reach as though to avoid some manner of taint, some force of nature that blows through their midst, a forcefulness that demands distance - uninviting, save for that he remains close to Shalem.

For now, the pythia is to be considered part of his entourage. ]

You get to enjoy the benefits of being at the side of a god, for now. If anyone tries to harass you, I'll break their fingers. Now, here - take your voting card.

[ With him is a little, elegantly hand-penned card; upon it are a trio of names, each numbered by the order the performer will appear, and space alongside the name to write in a tally or checkmark, before casting said vote. ]

You'd better at least enjoy music.

[ OR WHAT???? ]

[being swept up in the wake of someone with a forceful personality... that takes him back, doesn't it?

at least, now, this man-- another god apparently, shalem wonders if he's compared notes with zagreus yet-- isn't interested in hurting him, just bossing him around. perhaps he could even toss his hair to complete the similarities of an imperious heiress from somewhere like victoria or leithania...]

I do enjoy music, indeed. [shalem answers grumpiness with a cheery smile as he takes the card.] I grew up amongst actors, singers, artists... Watched from the backstage as they sang and danced to a story, the props they needed for their next scene in my hands.

[it's not even false.]

Did you never have the desire to step upon the stage yourself?

[ Certainly, with a background in theatre like that, Shalem would have more experience than just a stage hand. Set won't pretend to know the ins and outs of the stage, as performance before the throne of Egypt was largely dance, song and pageant-like rite that was as much to entertain the gods as it was to remind mortals of their moral requirements. Tragedies and comedies were not their domain, and performance -- well, it was nothing like this. ]

Of course I did. The way they sang and danced, their movements captivating and all their energy focused on themselves and their script... [shalem sighs, a small, sad smile on his face.] I wanted to feel that for myself.

Surely, it would have been... freeing, to be someone else for but a moment.

But I cannot carry a tune to save my life. [on the contrary... he can, otherwise he wouldn't be alive today. he's just lying.

but the wistfulness of his tone as he described his peers on the stage was not faked in the least.]

[ Shalem reminds him of Jonas, a little. The reluctance to take one's dream or the fledgling beginnings of a talent, and pursue it to fruition -- well, things like that don't sit well with Set. He is a god known not for his affinity for music, but for his pursuit of pleasures heedless of consequence. Bit of a hedonist, with a violent streak, yanno? ]

Then, I will find you a teacher.

[ Simple as that. ]

There is nothing in existence itself that cannot be learned with time, effort and passion. A proper teacher will take even your tuneless voice and turn it into something you may wield proudly!

[ He seizes Shalem's arms, overeager and brutally insistant. Oh no... ]

Ah!

[despite his thin, delicate-looking form, shalem handles being grabbed roughly quite well-- in fact, underneath all those ruffles, he has defined muscle. he's just never been able to put on real bulk like some of his other pythia peers in the elite ops.

then he just... chuckles, and places his hands on the man's elbows.]

You really are kind, aren't you? [despite the loud, headstrong nature. he'll have to decline the demand for a teacher however.

he just won't say it.]

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MOD EVENT #001

he will if he learns snek CAN sing...

have mercy uwu

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